


In the Mood

by BlossomsintheMist



Series: Steve/Tony Kinktober 2017 [25]
Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Bottom Tony, Bottom Tony Stark, Dom Steve, Dom Steve Rogers, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Feminization, Gentle Dom Steve, Intercrural Sex, Lace Panties, Light Dom/sub, Lingerie, Lipstick & Lip Gloss, M/M, Makeup, Mirror Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Nipple Play, Objectification, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Panties, Panty Kink, Praise Kink, Rimming, Roleplay, Sexual Roleplay, Size Kink, Stockings, Sub Tony, Sub Tony Stark, Top Steve, Top Steve Rogers, gentle dom Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 11:04:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16831375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlossomsintheMist/pseuds/BlossomsintheMist
Summary: Tony reached out, picked up his lipstick again, twisted it open, looking up at Steve through his thickly lacquered eyelashes as he did, then applied another thick coat over his already ruby-red lips, purposefully over-applying, then pressed them together the way he’d seen a girlfriend do it a thousand times and closed the lipstick, putting it back on the table on the other side of the mirror.  Steve was watching him, breathless, his mouth hanging open, and Tony could feel the hot hardness of his cock against his bottom through the little skirt and garter belt, throbbing and needy.  “Can I do something for you, hot stuff?” he murmured.  “Can I make you feel good?”Written for Day Twenty-Six of Kinktober: Mirror Sex | Stockings/Tights/Pantyhose.





	In the Mood

Tony pulled down a little nervously on the front of the filmy lace skirt he wore over his panties and garter belt, smoothing it out with careful fingers, looking at himself critically in the mirror. He wasn’t sure why getting dressed up like this always seemed to make him feel so—so fragile, vulnerable and exposed and open to Steve in a way he didn’t feel even naked in front of him, and certainly didn’t feel in the silky lacy panties he wore every day under his suits, even when Steve was running his fingers over them, touching Tony’s cock through them, even pressing his face to Tony’s hip, rubbing his cheek softly against the fine lace, against Tony’s cock through it, breathing out in apparent wonderment, long and deep like bliss, the way he did sometimes.

That same tone of wonder and awe was in Steve’s voice now, as he said, breathlessly, warm against Tony’s neck, “You look so pretty, Tony,” looking over Tony’s shoulder at the two of them standing in front of the floor-length mirror, big warm hands skimming over Tony’s hips, along the short flirty skirt of light blue silk and lace, down under it to wander over the soft blue and white cotton of his garter belt, tracing down the straps where they bit lightly into Tony’s thighs, then back up again. His eyes looked big and blown, he was biting his bottom lip, flushed furiously down his neck and over his chest, down past his nipples (already perky and flushed themselves, standing out from his pillowy pecs with arousal) and he couldn’t seem to stop running his hands over Tony’s hips, his belly where it was covered by the garter belt, down over his thighs, and that was totally, _totally_ why Tony had bothered to get dressed up like this in the first place, however vulnerable and fluttery and tight with strange anxiety it made him feel in his stomach. Because it made Steve look at him like _that_ , like he couldn’t even believe how beautiful Tony was. Because it made him feel soft and desirable and, and pretty and fragile and sexy and powerful at the same time. _Because_ it made him feel vulnerable, maybe. Maybe that was good. Maybe he liked that. Maybe he kept wanting more of it. Tony wasn’t even sure. He let his hands lift up, slip over the skirt again, up to his stomach where it was bare above his navel, watching Steve’s eyes dilate, watch him in the mirror.

Objectively, Tony did think he looked … nice. Sexy, seductive, even, all vintage androgyny in a way he’d hoped desperately would turn Steve on, and it seemed to be doing the trick. On his own, Tony would probably have opted for jewel tones and velvety fabrics, deep and rich, but he knew Steve loved to see him in sweet delicates, soft pastels, and he—he had to admit it was different, but not bad, made him feel even more fragile and vulnerable than usual. He’d chosen baby blue and white, colors Steve often wore himself when he dressed up like this, or chose to put on Tony, to the point where wearing them almost made him feel like, like he was showing how he was, he was Steve’s, when he put them on. He was all soft silk and lace today, like the white lace applique babydoll he was wearing, feathering down softly over his sides, just brushing the top of the garter belt, trimmed in powder blue that matched the corset-style lacing of his garter belt down the front, with a blue silk ribbon tying it closed. He’d matched the powder blue shade with his eyeshadow, lined his eyes carefully and coated his eyelashes thickly with mascara, even curled his hair.

He couldn’t resist a little red, though, in the ruby-red shade of his lipstick, the soft warm rose of the blush over his cheekbones, and he’d circled the buds of his nipples in it, too, so they showed rouged and dusky red through the delicate fall of soft white lace. Even he thought it looked—striking, with his strong square shoulders, his distinct, carefully shaped mustache and van dyke. He’d shaved or waxed everywhere else but his face—his chest, his private parts except for his neatly manicured pubic hair, even his legs, freshly waxed and smooth so that the silk of the stockings felt cool and shiveringly smooth over the sensitive, tingling skin. He’d chosen the stockings carefully, too, white silk with a back seam and a delicate decorative band at the top, diamond pattered lace with a wide band of floral worked patterns above it. He was standing there in his stocking feet, because it made Steve just that little bit taller than him, and he’d wanted that, felt like it fit. 

He was just dried off after the bath, and he’d dabbed on a little of the light vanilla cologne that had made Steve inhale him like he wanted to eat him for breakfast the last time he’d worn it (green and fresh and a little floral over vanilla and sandalwood and musk, it was gentle and green and tender and struck him as on the androgynous side of masculine, so he’d thought it would fit), and sure enough, Steve was taking deep lungfuls of the warm sensitive skin just behind Tony’s ear. He felt vulnerable and pretty and exposed and uncertain and incredibly turned on as Steve nuzzled in behind his ear, laid a kiss there, and took another slow, deep breath, stroking the front of his thighs and making Tony squirm.

“Like the stockings?” he asked, and it came out husky and low.

“Are you kidding?” Steve breathed, fingers dipping down and running over the delicate lace as he looked up to the mirror again, watching it. “I _love_ them. You look absolutely beautiful, Tony.”

Tony smiled to himself, a little. Beautiful, he thought. Beautiful was good, too. Beautiful was so good. “All for you, big boy,” he breathed, watching his own teeth white against his lipstick, the curl of his tongue. He really did look—pretty, good enough to eat.

“And a garter belt, too,” Steve said, sounding overwhelmed, watching in the mirror as Steve slid his fingers up, along the garters, along his thighs, to rub over the tight fabric of the garter belt. He pushed the little skirt up, and then Tony reached down, pulled it and held it against his belly obligingly with one hand, so that Steve could see it, the soft pattern of floral dots over it, rub at it with his fingers. It made Tony’s cock feel strangely held in tight, compressed, nowhere to go where the garter belt fit snugly over his groin, held him down against his groin, his belly, compressed under the panties and the tight garter belt, throbbing helpless and tight, hot and needy, as Steve rubbed his hands up and down over the garter belt, over the slight bulge that was all it revealed at his groin. Steve made a low, deep, needy sound in the back of his throat, watching Tony swell there just the tiniest bit as he stroked him, and burrowed his face in against the back of his neck, sucking wet, hot kisses there, along his nape, over his neck, until Tony’s was squirming. Steve’s face felt hot against his skin, his shoulders and pecs hot against Tony’s back through the thin soft lace, so he was turned on and flushing desperately the way he did when he really needed it, already.

Tony reached out, picked up his lipstick again, twisted it open, looking up at Steve through his thickly lacquered eyelashes as he did, then applied another thick coat over his already ruby-red lips, purposefully over-applying, then pressed them together the way he’d seen a girlfriend do it a thousand times and closed the lipstick, putting it back on the table on the other side of the mirror. Steve was watching him, breathless, his mouth hanging open, and Tony could _feel_ the hot hardness of his cock against his bottom through the little skirt and garter belt, throbbing and needy. “Can I do something for you, hot stuff?” he murmured. “Can I make you feel good?”

“I,” Steve said, and Tony could feel, watch him, swallow. His voice was breathy, thick and husky with sex and need. “I. Sure, Tony, whatever you want.”

“I do want, fella,” Tony said, smiling. “Don’t think less of me, all right? I’m just doing this because you’re my steady.” He let the skirt fall back over his garter belt, then fell to his knees, turning around so his back was to the mirror, hopefully giving Steve a nice view of his backside as he slid his hands up Steve’s bare, powerful, hot flushed thighs and closed them in his briefs, pulling them down to Steve’s knees in one gentle yank. Steve’s dick sprang free, already hot and flushed and drooling, foreskin partly retracted to reveal the pretty head, flushed pink and slickly, shiny wet with precome. Tony stuck his tongue out, leaned forward to lick at it, drag his tongue over it, slide it around the sensitive hot wet skin, so hot on his tongue, slurping and curling it wetly like he was licking frosting up off of it. He knew it had to look amazingly lewd, sexual, between his cherry-red lips, and also knew that Steve was incredibly visual when it came to sex, so he wasn’t surprised when Steve sucked in his breath like he’d been shot, his abdominal muscles clenching, fluttering, and his cock jumped under Tony’s tongue, leaking soft needy spurts of precome against it. “Mmm,” Tony said, and licked it up. He rubbed at Steve’s thighs, up over his belly, and then leaned down, taking that big, blunt, wet, hot cockhead into his mouth.

There was a reason he’d over-applied his lipstick so copiously. Tony wrapped his lips around the head of Steve’s cock and sucked, playing at the tip, pushing into the slit, with his tongue, hearing it as Steve panted, moaned, loudly, trembling under him, then pulled off and looked, pleased, at the red ring of lipstick that had left, cherry-red and incredibly sexual, just under the head of Steve’s cock.

Steve just moaned, trembling like he was shivering, his cock trembling, too, against Tony’s bottom lip, as Steve leaned forward to let it rest there, rubbing back and forth against Tony’s shiny wet mouth, rocking up and back on his feet, and his hand came down, clenching lightly but desperately in Tony’s extra-curly, fluffed up hair as he rubbed his hot cockhead up against Tony’s tongue, against his mouth. Tony moaned to encourage him, then got both hands around the base of Steve’s cock and started to suck, bobbing his head up and down as he opened his mouth wide to fit Steve’s cock in, letting his lipstick smear over Steve’s hot, trembling skin. Blowing Steve was never neat, always kind of a sloppy affair, and Tony had planned for that, taken into consideration how wide he had to open his mouth, smear his lips up and down Steve’s cock, open his jaw so wide he was drooling uncontrollably just to get Steve into the back of his mouth.

Still, Tony let himself work both of them up slowly this time, let his eyes slide mostly closed as he closed his fingers around Steve’s cock, ran a hand down to stroke and roll at his balls, letting Steve’s hot, thick cockhead and sweet musky taste slide back and forth over his tongue, dragging his mouth open wide, even as he hollowed his cheeks and sucked on him, played gently with his tongue along the ridges, the underside, over the head, flicked it gently against the slit. It always felt so good once he got into the rhythm of it, and Tony found himself squeezing his legs together, soft silky stockings rubbing together at his thighs, the feeling shivering and bright, as if that would give him any stimulation on his tightly captured cock as it throbbed beneath his panties and the garter belt, pushed down tight against his skin even as it hardened and plumped up and he could feel it leak a bit of precome, wet and messy against his skin, as Steve’s hot musky length filled up his mouth. He could feel the steady pounding of Steve’s heart in his hot, hard length over his tongue, and Tony’s mouth felt wet and sticky and strange with the lipstick, made him all the more aware of it. He could taste the lipstick on Steve’s cock, on his own tongue. He was determined to smear it all the way down to Steve’s base, to leave a ring of it there.

It felt so good, letting himself sink into that rhythm, and Tony felt his self-consciousness at the silky stocking on his legs, the strange clinging softness encasing his feet and his toes, the lacy lingerie clinging to what curves his body had with every movement, fade away, until there was only the heat and ache and pressure of Steve’s cock in his mouth, the wet slickness and slide, the way Tony had to pant, drooling around it, as he dragged in air through his nose, opened up his mouth for it. Steve’s hand was tugging gently, so gently, at his hair, petting and gripping and stroking like he couldn’t stop, like he had to keep his hand moving, groaning nonstop now, and Tony let that spur him on, opened his mouth even wider, somehow, and let Steve’s massive cock slide in to the back of his throat, a test run, letting himself get used to the heavy girth, the length.

He let it bump there one, two, three times, then was confident in his ability to open his throat, take it deeper, and shoved himself down further over Steve. Steve gasped, trembled under him, jerked, but not hard, not shoving himself up into Tony’s mouth, a low, gasping groan escaping him as his hand tightened in Tony’s hair, and Tony let out a gurgling sigh at the pleasure of it. He kept Steve’s thick heat down his throat as long as he could before his eyes would start to water, then slid off again, sucking and licking and making love to the head, really, with his whole mouth, lips and tongue and everything, as it lay in his mouth.

After that, he had the rhythm of it, and it was easy to rock forward, take Steve even deeper with each bob forward and down of his head, playing gently with Steve’s balls in between with one hand, tugging them up toward him with every pass. Steve kept gasping, shivering, gave low wet grunts and needy, gasping, _ah-ah-ah_ moans, moaning Tony’s name, both hands in his hair now, stroking and gripping, and it felt so good, so, so good, that Tony’s cock felt hot and damp in his panties, against his hot skin under the garter belt. Tony felt warm all over, and every tug or squeeze or stroke of Steve’s hand in his hair made him shiver with that warmth as another wave of it passed over him, pooled in his cock, flushed warm in his face, in the ache of his jaw. Tony let himself settle into that warm, loose, easy feeling, fuzz out on that pressure and ache, the feeling of Steve warm and hot and heavy and pulsing down his throat, lost himself in that heavy drag, the hot slide along his tongue, in and out of his mouth, in working his tongue, hollowing his cheeks, sucking, the way Steve’s hips juddered and worked under him, until he was pressing his lips to Steve’s base, into his pubic hair, against his skin, in a wet, red kiss, closing his lips firmly around Steve’s cock so Steve would be sure to notice, to remember the red lipstick stain, the releasing a bit as he let himself drag back up.

Tony savored each long, slow slide, the fullness of it, tight down his throat, hot and pulsing against the walls of muscle there, every time Steve slid out over his tongue, then Tony rocked his head forward again and slid him back down his throat. It never took Steve all that long to come from being deep-throated, and so Tony just gripped his hands around Steve’s thighs and relished the overwhelming heat and weight and stretch of it, the way Steve filled up his mouth, over his tongue, his throat, forcing it to squeeze and spasm all around that thick length. He just lost himself in it, let his hands slide up to rest them against Steve’s firm, clenching stomach muscles, forearms against his thighs, enjoying the way it felt like it rubbed his soft throat raw on the inside, but still felt it as it started to build for Steve, his cock pulsing down Tony’s throat, and pulled back just enough to rub Steve’s wet, lipstick smeared and sticky cock with his hand, so that Steve could come over his tongue. He always came so much, in big, hot, wet, pulses over Tony’s tongue, and Tony swallowed and swallowed, sucking at the tip, just under the head, against Steve’s foreskin, riding out Steve’s orgasm, trying to prolong it as long as he could, rolling his hand up and down along the shaft, tugging gently as more and more come pulsed out over his tongue, swallowing as best as he could, though he could feel some of it bubbling up, leaking out and spattering over his lips, because Steve just came _so much_ every time.

He kept at it until Steve was whining, trembling with sensitivity under him, panting, “Tony, Tony,” in soft rough deep gasps, and he let him slip out of his mouth, dragging over the lower lip, painting it red with a squeeze of both lips, then let it flop down between them. Steve was staring down at him, eyes glazed, lips bitten and puffy and shiny with spit, looking hot and swollen, cheeks deeply flushed, hands still tangled up in Tony’s hair. His flush went down, over his heaving chest, down all the way, over his thighs, and he moaned as his cock slid out of Tony’s lips, as if the sight was just too much.

Tony winked up at him, reached up, ran two fingers over his wet, lipstick-smeared, come-spattered lips, feeling their hot raw puffiness, the wetness of come over the stickiness of the lipstick, until his fingers felt coated in it, and he reached out, pressed them into Steve’s skin just above the jut of his hip, leaving a red kiss of lipstick there against his skin.

Steve’s eyes fluttered, he gulped, once, then again, swallowed, looking down at Tony, his eyes blown, dark, then dragged in a long, ragged breath and fell down to his knees, reaching up with both hands and cupping Tony’s face. They felt sweaty, and Tony smiled at that, proud that he’d got him that worked up, into it, turned his face and left a red smudge of lipstick against the heel of Steve’s hand with a kiss. It made him feel warm, glowing, the satisfaction of Steve’s hot flush and glazed eyes and breathless smile, of the taste of Steve’s come on his tongue. “God, Tony,” Steve gasped. “That was … that was …” he ran his thumbs gently along Tony’s beard, all soft warm strength, damp and radiating heat against his face. “That was so good,” he whispered, lashes fluttering, and swallowed again. “You’re so, you’re so beautiful.”

“Aww, sweetie, I try,” Tony murmured, feeling a warm flush of pleasure up into his face himself at that.

“You’re so good,” Steve murmured, still smiling, his eyes fluttering closed as he leaned in, let their foreheads press together, gently, hands sliding up to stroke through Tony’s fluffy curls, pushing them back off his face and making Tony sigh, close his own eyes in pleasure as his fingers tugged lightly in his hair, before Steve pressed a warm, damp kiss against Tony’s smeared, swollen lips. Tony heard, felt himself moan, arched up into it, braced himself against Steve’s sides as he leaned in against him, and when Steve pulled back, Tony felt dizzy, hot, panting, and Steve’s lips were red with his lipstick. He smiled, reached up to rub his thumb against them.

“What else can I do for you, stud?” he mumbled, reached down to close his fingers around Steve’s cock again, drag them up, tugging on it gently. “What’s next? How d’you want me?”

“Tony,” Steve said, laughing a little. “I just—I just came, I—”

He was already hardening in Tony’s hand, though, hot and heavy under his fingers. “Yeah,” Tony breathed, “but you can always go again. I want you to go again, sweetheart. Honeymuffin. Apple pie. I got all dressed up for you. I want you to, to use me. Show me how much you like it, please?”

Saying that, please, while he pressed his tongue against his lower lip, looked up at Steve through his eyelashes, was unfair, and he knew it, wasn’t above it. He felt hot himself, turned on, his cock throbbing where it was captured behind his garter belt and panties, the sensitive tip tingling and aching against the soft lace, his nipples feeling hot and tight, too, every time the lace trailed over him. Steve could never resist him saying please, all husky and low and breathy and turned on, and the eyelashes made him weaken, too. Sure enough, Steve let out a low, stuttering groan, and his eyes fluttered shut, just for a moment, his cock thickening up and pulsing in Tony’s hand until wet precome dripped down it against the back of his hand. Tony just stroked him, keeping his eyes on Steve’s face, drinking up every shiver, every reaction, every time Steve bit his lip or his eyes fluttered, the flush over his cheeks.

“I love it, Tony,” Steve said, hoarse and deep, eyes opening again as he lifted his hands, petted them gently down Tony’s sides. “You look so, so delicate, so beautiful, so. God. So good, so gorgeous for me.” He leaned in, pressed a gentle kiss against Tony’s shoulder, against the silky strap of the babydoll, and Tony sighed, let himself sway forward against him.

“How do you want me,” he murmured, pressing their cheeks together, running his hands up and down Steve’s chest, over those hot, heaving pecs, pressing, teasing at those red, flushed, perky nipples, squeezing them between his fingers, rubbing at them. Steve dragged in a harsh breath, shivered under him, hands sliding down, squeezing at the back of Tony’s neck. “C’mon, just let me know, big guy.”

“Um,” Steve said. His breath was warm, damp, feathering over Tony’s lips and chin. He pushed his chest up under Tony’s hands, apparently unconsciously, and Tony obliged him, plucking gently at his nipples, squeezing and tugging, with both hands. He realized it was distracting, but he couldn’t resist giving Steve that little extra pleasure. He kept fondling at his heaving chest, tugging at his nipple, with one hand, reached down with the other and rubbed at Steve’s cock, pulling on it gently, sliding his foreskin up over the head, until Steve was panting, hard and throbbing and furiously hot in his hand. “Uh,” Steve said again, breathy. His hands squeezed at Tony’s side, one coming up to his arm, almost kneading at the muscles. “God, Tony, I—God. That’s …” he was jerking his hips up into Tony’s grip, his cock very hard now. 

“Yeah?” Tony purred, damp and hot against Steve’s neck.

Steve dragged in a deep breath, kissed Tony’s forehead. “Turn around,” he said, low and hoarse. “I want your hands on the mirror. I’d like to, to rub off between your pretty thighs. Would that—would that be all right with you?”

Tony groaned at the idea. “Sure thing, slugger,” he murmured. His own cock throbbed now, aching, as he turned around, shuffled forward and gripped the sides of the mirror with both hands, steadying himself, very aware of how the position pushed his ass out toward Steve as he squeezed his thighs together, unable to resist rubbing them together as he pressed them tight, feeling the silky softness of his stockings, the gentle tease of the lace over his thighs.

Steve’s fingers came up a moment later, petted softly over the lace borders of Tony’s stockings, before sliding between his thighs, rubbing at the soft skin just above them. They kept moving up, slid under Tony’s lacy little skirt, kneading at the rounded curves of his ass, massaging against the garters, the lacy edge of Tony’s panties where they peeked out from under it, down over the top of his thighs. He bent down, warm breath shivering over Tony’s back where it was bare, before he pressed soft, wet kisses down his spine, first over the bare skin, then down through the silky soft lace of the babydoll where it covered Tony’s back, hung loose over his sides. Tony shivered under him, cock throbbing, and then Steve’s big, heavy length was pushing between his thighs, making Tony hyper-aware of the garters, the stockings, the way the lace and the straps pushed into his skin. He moaned, pushed back against him, and then Steve was gasping into his back, pressing a kiss right under Tony’s ear, against his neck, and fucking him.

It was a strange sort of feeling, no direct pressure on his cock, just warmth and friction along his thighs, along the lace of his stockings, hot and humid where Steve pushed up against the crotch of his delicate panties, just tiny little jostles of his balls. Tony could see himself in the mirror, Steve behind him, and he looked—well, he looked debauched, sweaty, with curly hair hanging over his forehead, mouth swollen and still painted red, though it was sticky and uneven now, nipples hard and plumped up, the rouged buds seeming so obvious through the babydoll every time Steve’s cock thrust between his legs and Tony swayed forward as if helpless against it. Steve’s cock was visible between his thighs, the big blunt head dripping precome on the floor, sometimes catching the front of the tiny skirt, even as Steve’s hands pushed it up over his ass, held it hitched up around Tony’s waist, and it was strange to see no evidence of his own cock, the skirt concealing the bulge under his garter belt. Steve’s hands looked huge on his waist, and Tony felt—felt small and delicate and vulnerable and beautifully tousled, wrecked, just there for him to use, for Steve to get off between his thighs. Sometimes Steve would look up, stare at them both in the mirror, like he couldn’t get enough of what he was seeing, and it would always make Tony feel hot all over, down to his toes. And then Steve slid his hand up, started rubbing under Tony’s lacy little skirt, against his garter belt, gripping and squeezing and rubbing up and down against his cock, through the girdle and Tony’s panties, making his trapped cock throb, until Tony was panting, gasping and whimpering himself, despite himself, Steve’s hand so hot through the fabric, the friction so startling and hot and bright, so that Tony found himself rolling his hips forward desperately, helplessly, feeling himself leak where his cock was held tight against his skin, somehow loving the helplessness of it as Steve pawed at him and fucked between his tight, straining thighs at the same time, so that he was very aware of the garter straps biting into his skin.

Finally Steve surged forward, squeezing at Tony’s cock through his garter belt, and grabbed hard onto the mirror himself, bit down on Tony’s shoulder, the meat of it, and gave a low, stuttering cry as he thrust hard between Tony’s thighs one last time and it spattered all over the front of the mirror. Tony moaned at the sight, watching it hit the mirror and run down it, over the image of his own body, shivering under Steve’s warm strength as Steve groaned, bit and sucked at the bite on his shoulder, breath hot on his skin, still rubbing at Tony’s cock until it felt so—so hot and needy and tight and desperate, itching for something to really thrust against and aching trapped tight against his belly, and God, it was such a turn-on, the way he felt helpless and trapped and Steve’s big warm hand felt so good, and Steve was huffing and panting and whining as he thrust between Tony’s legs, riding out his orgasm, painting the mirror with his come, nuzzling and sucking at Tony’s throbbing skin where he’d bitten him like he wanted to bite a big obnoxious mark there, like his initials or something. Tony’s hands were sweaty and trembling on the mirror and he couldn’t seem to do anything but push himself back against Steve’s slowing thrusts, riding against his cock with his thighs squeezed tight, and roll his hips forward against Steve’s warm hand where he was rubbing at him, the image of his hand rubbing under Tony’s little skirt insanely hot, insanely lewd, in the come spattering the mirror.

Tony hadn’t been so turned on in a long time. He looked so … tousled and hot and breathless and just … messy, with his smeared lipstick and disheveled lingerie and Steve was all over him and his cock was throbbing and hard in his panties and garter belt, under Steve’s hand, and Steve was still squeezing at him, and he couldn’t help rolling his hips up into him and he felt so—so used, so helpless and _wanted_ and desired and breathless.

After a moment Steve gripped Tony’s hip with his other hand, sitting back a bit, patted him, and Tony let his legs slip apart, Steve’s cock fall from between them. Steve made a hot, needy sort of noise, nosed in against Tony’s neck, took another deep, long breath there, bit lightly at his ear, still rubbing his cock gently through the garter belt. Tony moaned, encouraging him, rolling his hips, and Steve pressed soft, wet kisses over his neck, moved his hand away from Tony’s needy cock, making him whimper, and slipped his fingers down between his thighs, feeling where he was warm, hot, from Steve fucking between them, tugging at the garter straps, feeling at the soft lace of his stockings. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered again in Tony’s ear, and Tony could see him looking at them in the mirror, at his fingers playing over Tony’s thighs, against the lace of the stockings. He ducked his head, feeling almost flustered, panting for breath. “No,” Steve insisted, his voice rough, husky, warm, and his hand came up, stroked at Tony’s belly. “You are.”

Tony shrugged, pressed back against him, leaving another lipsticky kiss on Steve’s shoulder, feeling his warmth all along his back through delicate lace, against bare skin, his strength, and shivering with it. Steve stroked his belly a little more, ran his fingertip against Tony’s navel, tugging at it gently until Tony was squirming under him, trying not to laugh, then reached up, still holding Tony at his hip, over the garter belt, under the skirt, and took Tony’s jaw gently in his hand, turned his jaw to press a soft kiss against his lips. Tony found himself panting into it, twisting back to met it, letting his mouth give way soft beneath Steve’s, feeling their lips sticky, catching and sliding together with his lipstick.

They kissed, breathless and soft, and then Steve pulled away, stroked his jaw some more. “I want you to do something for me,” he said, and Tony nodded.

“What, sugar?” he asked, and it came out breathless, low and husky, even eager.

“I know it’s my fault for makin’ a mess,” Steve said, smiling, meeting his eyes even as he flushed, “but clean up the mirror for me?” He swiped a thumb over Tony’s mouth, smiled as it came away red. “With your sweet, pretty mouth? You’re going to have to be careful, but. For me?”

“Oh,” Tony breathed, blinked. “Oh, I.” His cock throbbed between his legs as he realized what Steve was asking. “Of—of course, sugar plum. I’d be happy to.”

“Mind if I do a few things, too?” Steve said, smiling a little fondly, sheepishly, now, playing with the strap of Tony’s garter. “While you’re working on cleaning up for me.” 

“Like—like what, honey?” Tony asked, and it came out on a groan. God, Steve’s mouth was all red with Tony’s lipstick now.

Steve’s fingers trailed back over Tony’s thighs, rubbed at the curve of his ass where it met his thighs, and his grin was pure mischief. “Oh, you know,” he said. “Things.” He tugged lightly at the bottom of Tony’s garter belt, and it made him shiver. “Finger you open. Eat you out. I really want to get inside you sometime tonight.” Gentle fingers sliding along his perineum, against his lacy panties. “God, Tony, those feel amazing,” he murmured softly. “But, well. You know. I want you good and open. Take my time with you.”

“I—” Tony started, swallowed. Steve wanted to put his tongue on him. He knew Steve didn’t mind it, but it still felt so—so intimate, so, well, filthy. He was clean; he’d cleaned up scrupulously for this, even before making sure he was shaved and trimmed and freshly waxed, but. But still. It was his _asshole_.

“Don’t say you’re not clean,” Steve murmured, gently fingers stroking the underside of Tony’s balls, through the silky lace of his panties, making him shiver, shake. “I know you spent hours on it earlier, getting all spic and span for me inside.”

Tony felt himself turn even hotter. Okay, so maybe Steve was right about that. Tony liked to be … clean, inside, when they did this, and this time, well, it had seemed fitting that he make extra sure. So yeah, he’d spent a lot of time on it. “Okay,” he said, and it came out all breathy and soft, “sure, I, yeah, I did do that, but.”

“So let me, Tony,” Steve said, and kissed softly along his shoulder, licking, sucking over his pulse, too lightly to leave a mark, kissed the underside of his jaw. “You know I like doing it. Love it.”

He did, Tony knew that. “All right,” he finally breathed, trying not to squirm, and spread his legs obligingly for Steve, feeling very aware of his hot, damp thighs, a little sticky from Steve rutting back and forth between them, and leaned forward, bracing both hands on the mirror again as he started to lick up Steve’s spend with his tongue. He did have to be careful, like Steve had said, not to smudge it with his lipstick, and that meant sticking his tongue out, dragging it against the smooth cool surface mirror, getting it all wet with his spit, laving his tongue against it. He felt intensely, vividly aware of the way Steve was touching him, pushing up his skirt, caressing his thighs, up over his fabric-covered ass, rubbing gently, before he gently unfastened the garter straps, three of them on each leg, rubbing at Tony’s skin under it every time, then stroked the front and back of his thighs, pushed the garter belt up, bunching it and the skirt up around his waist. Tony groaned, moaned, squirming as his cock was released from the tight pressure of the garter belt and sank down to bob more naturally between his legs, just constrained by the soft pressure of the fine lace panties, which had plenty of stretch. He badly wanted to get a hand down to touch himself, squeeze and tug and press at himself through the panties, rocked desperately on his knees, but made himself keep both hands on the mirror as he kept licking at it, feeling something inside his belly go soft and liquid as he did.

“Thank you, Tony,” Steve murmured. He rubbed a finger over Tony’s newly waxed hole, sensitive and tingling at the touch, through the lace of his panties. “Gosh, these are so pretty,” he said. “They make you look so pretty. So perfect against your skin.”

“Th-thanks,” Tony gasped. His mouth felt very wet, saliva prickling in it as he kept licking at the mirror. His head was spinning. It was true that he’d chosen almost his most delicate, pretty pair of panties for this, soft silky lace in delicate patterns. He was just glad Steve liked them as much as he’d hoped he would.

“You’re such a good boy,” Steve murmured, stroking the insides of his thighs now, with the backs of his fingers, making Tony shiver, feel hot all over. “So sweet. Thanks for taking care of that for me.”

“S-sure thing, honey,” Tony moaned between licks at the mirror. It tasted like Steve, musky and salty sweet, strangely cool on his tongue. “’Course.”

“You’re so sweet,” Steve said again, so fond and warm, stroked at his hole with two fingers through the lace, making him tingle, suck in his breath, at the warm swipe downwards, then pulled Tony’s panties down around his thighs, reaching forward and gently freeing his cock, holding it in his hand for a moment (God, he felt so big and warm, and Tony squirmed, panting, in his hold), stroking his thumb just under the tip. “You’re wet already,” Steve said, softly, moving his thumb up over the sensitive head until Tony gasped, gave a desperate wet little noise, bucked his hips helplessly. “Ah, baby, that’s so good, that’s so nice. Now just let me make you wetter.”

Tony groaned, panting even as Steve gently let go of his cock, letting it bob up against his groin again and reached back to press gently at his hole, stroking, pressing but not pushing in, massaging the rim.

“How open do you think you still are from cleaning yourself out?” Steve murmured.

“Uh,” Tony mumbled. There was drool dripping out of his mouth now, over his tongue, saliva smearing across the mirror, which felt warm from his breath. “Not. Not very.” He always closed up fast, squeezing down like his stupid tight, tense ass didn’t want to be open, not even for Steve. And maybe that had sort of been true in the past, but it wasn’t now, not with Steve. Tony—he—he kind of liked, maybe, being worked open for him, being made ready to take Steve’s big, overwhelming thickness. He didn’t mind it, anyway.

“Gotcha,” Steve said. He was still stroking, rubbing there gently. “Can’t say I’m surprised. You always tighten up so fast.” There was a wet noise, sucking, from behind Tony, and Tony realized Steve was sucking on his fingers, and groaned. His cock jerked again, and then Steve was petting a wet finger over his hole, working it slowly inside. He was being gentle, slow, but it felt—it felt huge, with just his spit slicking it, made Tony feel invaded, open, fragile somehow, as it burned slightly against the tight muscle. Steve crooked it inside, rubbed gently around him, massaging, even as he felt him go up on his knees, reach over his head to snag the bottle of lube out off the dresser Tony had left his makeup on. Steve was rubbing his other spit-wet finger against Tony’s perineum now, and the touch made Tony feel sensitive, strangely good, shivering and breathless, and he realized he was relaxing with that pleasure even as Steve drew his finger out (the burn, the friction, making Tony groan, tight and hot), then slicked it, rubbed slick lube over his hole, massaging around it, over it, for long moments before he pushed his finger back in.

Steve was very patient this time, gently massaging at Tony’s inner tissues, stretching him gently, making sure he was slick inside and out before adding another finger and crooking them inside, rubbing gently. He found his prostate, then, and started to rub there, again and again, massaging the spot into waves of hot, breathless pleasure that stabbed hot into Tony’s gut, went straight to his cock, and made Tony knock forward and smudge his lipstick against the mirror more than a few times, before he licked it up, his cock throbbing hot and hard, feeling heavy between his legs. Steve got one, two, three fingers into him, pumping them in and out, twisting, stroking, working them against Tony’s prostate until he was gasping against the urge to twist back onto them, panting until the mirror steamed up with his breath between each lick. Steve’s attention to his prostate was so constant, so assiduous, that Tony started to feel like it was aching under the gentle, constant pleasure, throbbing with it, swollen and sensitive and wanting, that throbbing pleasurable itch that it seemed like only Steve’s firm, caressing, slick fingers could scratch with each deep, soft rub into him.

The mirror was mostly clean now, and Tony had to bend down almost to the floor to get the rest of it, lick it up off the frame. It pushed his ass up, as he arched his back, tried to lean down, so of course that was when Steve set his lube-slick thumbs at Tony’s damp, softly massaged into open relaxation hole, pulled him slightly apart, hands gripping his ass cheeks and parting them as his thumbs slid in, and pressed his mouth, soft and hot and wet, to the soft slick open rim of Tony’s hole. He kissed at the rim of it, soft and sweet, then sucked a little, until Tony shivered, moaned a little, uncontrollably, at the soft wet suction against such a sensitive place, rocked on his knees, and then Steve was kissing him again, but more lewdly, like he would have kissed his mouth with tongue, licking into him, sliding it wetly along his rim, his inner muscles, in and out, flickering and wet and warm. Tony trembled, vividly aware of the wet soft strength of Steve’s tongue at his most intimate place, of the stockings pooling and slipping on his legs, starting to slide down toward his knees, of his cock throbbing and nipples prickling and the saliva that was sliding into his goatee, all across his cheeks and lips, the soft ache of his jaw.

Steve spent long minutes after licking into him, soft and hot and slick, the muscles of his strong tongue insistent but soft on his inner walls, until Tony felt like he was wet, dripping, shivering with the gentle wetness and pleasure of it. He could feel himself slowly relaxing into it, despite the invasiveness, the hot wet warmth and demanding slickness in a place that felt so strange for it to be, and then Steve reached up with one slick hand, still holding Tony open with the other, and started to rub at Tony’s now free cock, stroking it gently, tugging at it, smoothing his palm soft and smooth over the head, and Tony sighed low and trembling, shivered, rocked forward into that strong, firm, callused palm, feeling himself really relax. Steve was licking deeply into him, letting it go slick and wet so that Tony could feel the cool air against the skin over his damp ass cheeks, the heat of Steve’s breath, his mouth, deep inside, even as Steve continued to massage, to tug at, his cock.

Tony wasn’t sure how long it was until Steve stopped, drew back, just that he felt like he was dripping by the time he finally did, and he felt like he had licked up all the come, even down along the frame, and was just holding onto the mirror by then, trying to stay still for Steve. Steve drew back, blew soft air over his hole, and Tony could hear him wiping his mouth, wetly, before two lube slick fingers slid deep into him again, and he jerked, gave a soft cry at the sudden sensation, the openness and quick easy slide of them, the pressure against his loosening inner walls, panting. “Oh, yeah,” Steve said, and rocked his fingers gently, curving them, making Tony moan, “that’s it. I think you’re nice and relaxed now, huh?” Tony just gasped, blinking, tried to think. “You feel relaxed?” Steve asked, softly, crooking his fingers, making Tony writhe, push back against them instinctively, seeking that pressure on his prostate again, the way it lit his world up with pleasure. “Shh, I’ve gotcha,” Steve murmured then, and his fingers curled, rubbed against it gently, stroking Tony inside the same way he was stroking him gently along his cock, until Tony was writhing, sweating, losing himself in pleasure for long moments. “Does that feel good?” Steve murmured. “There, just—just feel, for me, that’s so beautiful, Tony.” He leaned forward, pressed kisses over Tony’s sensitive shoulders, along the bite he’d left there earlier, over skin that something felt very sensitized now and tingled at the slightest touch, both underneath the lacy lingerie and along his bare skin, making him shiver and writhe. Tony had no idea how long Steve spent touching him like that, but it felt like a long time. “How would you feel about having me inside you?” Steve murmured, after a moment, gently letting his hand fall away from Tony’s cock, but not moving his fingers away from Tony’s prostate, still gently stroking, massaging, there, sending low waves of pleasure rolling through Tony’s entire body.

Tony pulled on the mirror to help himself raise his head, look back at Steve through looking into the reflective surface. Steve’s mouth and chin still looked wet, his lips red and swollen and shiny, and Tony shivered with a self-conscious wave of heat, knowing that had come from—come from licking at _him_ , like that. Steve still had that mischievous look on his face. Tony gave a questioning noise, shrugged his shoulders. “Al-already in, inside me, champ,” he finally managed to get out breathily.

“Oh, yeah,” Steve said. “Guess I am.” He smiled, gave Tony a long slow rub of his prostate inside with both fingers that left him trembling, gasping, rocking on his knees as he desperately tried to ride the pleasure that send quivering through his body. “I wasn’t talking about my fingers, though.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Tony murmured, after a long moment. What Steve kept doing to his prostate, how he kept rubbing at and stroking along his inner walls, was incredibly distracting. “Your dick, am I guessing right, here, tiger?”

“Would that be all right?” Steve asked, with an almost touching earnestness, stilling his fingers inside him for a moment, like he actually thought Tony might say no.

“Course,” Tony said, and shuffled his legs apart just that little bit more. “Come on in, big boy.” It came out very breathy, light and soft, but maybe Steve wouldn’t mind that, so much. It kind of fit character, right?

“Thank you, Tony,” Steve murmured, leaned forward, covering him with his warm strength, his sturdy body, again, kissed his shoulder, the back of his neck, and then he was reaching back, had to be angling himself, and there was the wet sound of him adding more lube, slicking himself. His fingers brushed more gently over Tony’s hole, pushed just inside with a big squirt of it and twisted, painting it along his inner walls, and then Steve was pushing into him.

There was initial resistance (there always was, pretty much), and Steve had to push a bit at first, making Tony gasp, his eyes water slightly, at the pressure, the pure _stretch_ of it, spreading him out wide, pushing against that sensitive, intimate place, but then he was opening wide, giving way, and he felt Steve slip into him with that sudden sense of give, of slight vertigo, it always gave him, as Steve’s thick warm heat spread him open and pushed inside.

“St-Steve,” he stuttered out, feeling his hands slip down the sides of the mirror, sweaty and desperate, but then Steve was slipping an arm around Tony’s middle, one over his hip, down along his thigh, rubbing a finger gently under one loose stocking, then gripping him gently and pulling him back, and back, until his back was to Steve’s chest, and he was cradled in his lap, against his thighs. The movement pushed him back on Steve’s cock, and Tony cried out, arched his back, gasping, but didn’t fight it. Steve was sliding inside, deep and inexorable, and it felt—good, overwhelming, overwhelming heat and fullness and depth, like his whole body felt the sensation of being spread open on Steve’s big cock as he sank down on it. Steve rubbed his belly, murmured endearments to him, kissed at the side of his neck, down over his shoulder, bracing him at his thigh, fingers gripping tight but not painful just above Tony’s panties where they’d slipped down his thighs slightly. Tony thought he probably looked incredibly wrecked, if he’d had the energy to look up at himself in the mirror, but the sensations were just too overwhelming, and he couldn’t help throwing back his head, gasping, eyes shut tight just in order to process them.

“Shh, that’s it,” Steve said, softly, holding him tight, his other hand sliding up again to rub at Tony’s belly, play gently with his skirt, then tuck it in against itself and go back up to stroking his skin. “There you go; I’m deep inside you now.”

Tony panted. He wanted to say yeah, Steve, he could tell that, thank you very much, but he couldn’t seem to find the mental or physical coordination. Taking Steve was always just so—overwhelming. He was so big, and Tony swore he barely fit inside him, spreading him apart the way he did, until Tony was left trembling, gasping, barely able to stand the overwhelming heat and just, just _presence_ of Steve inside him. He had to reach back, steady himself with one hand on Steve’s hip, writhing over him, and feeling that huge length just so hot and deep and throbbing inside him, like he could feel Steve’s heartbeat all through his own body because of it, because of that heat nestled so deeply in his body, immovable and impossibly, it felt like, large.

Steve, incredibly, somehow, held still, just kissing Tony’s neck, rubbing his stomach, not moving the slightest bit, even though Tony could feel the strain of it in the hot skin under his hand, the trembling muscles of his thighs and stomach, the tightness of the body behind him. Tony squeezed his hip a moment later, anchoring himself, rubbed at Steve’s skin. “Go ‘head,” he managed to gasp out, finally. “Oh, yeah.”

“Are you sure?” Steve murmured. “You haven’t had a lot of time to adjust.”

“’m good,” Tony panted. And it was true, there wasn’t as much of the strain in his muscles, in his thighs, as he usually felt, and Steve had gotten him good and wet, good and open. To prove it, he lifted himself up with his thighs, pressing his calves against the floor, until a few inches of Steve slid out of him, rocked himself over it, then let himself slide back down. The feeling was utterly overwhelming, not even exactly pleasure, just intense _fullness_ , the thick heat and pressure of Steve, and he leaned back against him, panting, as Steve slid back into him, balls-deep, but if he hadn’t been nice and ready, in this position he wouldn’t have been able to do even that; he didn’t have much leverage.

“Well, all right, sweetheart,” Steve said, and his hand pressed flat, so warm and broad, on Tony’s stomach, as his other slid gripped Tony’s thigh, around his hip, even more firmly, and then he was shifting his hips, rolling his them with a kind of liquid movement that shifted Steve’s cock in and out of Tony in little rolling thrusts instead of any kind of dramatic in and out movement. Tony whined, felt his head thunk back against Steve’s shoulder, because that kept him so _deep_ inside him, and he was so full, so thick, so _much_ , stretching Tony out wide, and then Steve tugged at him, adjusted him slightly as he drew back a bit and slid into Tony again, and then Steve’s cock was sliding directly over his prostate, and Tony gasped, cried out, choking on his own breath, writhed, whimpering helplessly, unable to help it. “I’ve gotcha,” Steve murmured again, “so beautiful, Tony, that’s it, that’s so good.”

Tony whined at him, shaking his head, had a feeling his other hand was clawing pretty unnecessarily at Steve’s thigh, dragging his short nails down it, but Steve didn’t seem to mind, just nuzzled in against his throat, his jaw, kissing him gently.

“So good,” Steve told him, with a little more emphasis, then caught his breath raggedly, on a little thick drag in of that breath, and then he was fucking him again, back to those little rolling thrusts. They put pretty much constant pressure on Tony’s prostate, and Tony was just gasping, writhing, whimpering at the impossible fullness, the pleasure that undulated through his body in constant waves, until he realized his cock was hard again, and then Steve had his big hand around it, stroking gently.

The thing was, Steve wasn’t always that patient in bed, but when it came to fucking like this, he’d perfected the art of going slow. It always felt like it took a long time for Tony to come from anal, even with a hand on his cock, but Steve just held him steady and kept up a constant pace, stroking Tony’s cock gently the whole time. Tony couldn’t seem to do anything but feel—the constant warm strokes and gentle friction against his cock, the way Steve knew just how to rub his thumb over the head, stroke him down the shaft, rub at the base of it, and always the pressure and throbbing, sweet pleasure inside of him at the same time, until all Tony could do was to buck up away from that intense building sweet, hot heat inside him, then push himself back down into it again, desperately seeking it. Steve was patient, seemed focused on making Tony feel good, slowly working him up, building that pleasure with his pulls on Tony’s cock, the constant pleasure on his prostate.

When Tony finally did come, it seemed to go on forever, Steve working it out of him with gentle rocks of his hips and strokes to his cock, as Tony was tossing his head, not even sure what sounds he was making as bright warm pleasure swept through him, carried him away, took him up with it, like he was flying, going straight up, he was going to break atmosphere, he swore he was, panting, chest heaving, the pleasure so intense, ebbing and flowing inside of him until he finally came back down and felt it still gently flowing through him, like a wave, and trembled as Steve coaxed a little more come out of his tired cock, feeling himself arch and gasp and shiver, not even sure what his body was feeling, except pleasure, soft and bright and everywhere, before he finally slumped back against Steve, feeling boneless, his legs weak and slack, his body wrung out, and Steve finally went still inside him, gave his cock one last squeeze, one last gentle stroke, and let go of it.

“Good?” Steve murmured, and Tony could feel his smile against his skin as he turned his face against Tony’s jaw, laid a kiss there. He reached up, stroked gentle fingers along Tony’s throat, against his jaw, squeezed his shoulder, holding him up with his damp, come-sticky hand on his hip now, then rubbed his stomach again. “You still there, fella?”

Tony groaned, turned his head and knocked his cheek against Steve’s.

“Call back later?” Steve murmured, and kissed him. Tony moaned, leaned up into the kiss, reached up until he could take hold of the back of Steve’s head and pull him down into it, soft and wet and lingering. Steve kissed him gently, deeply, slipping his tongue into his mouth, cradling him against his body, stroking the side of his neck, holding him even as his cock was still hard deep inside him.

Tony sighed as Steve pulled away, licked some of his own lipstick away from his bottom lip. “You haven’t come,” he murmured softly.

“Yeah,” Steve said, with a soft, rueful smile. “How d’you feel about that, fella?” 

“Like I want you to do something about it,” Tony told him, rubbed the back of his fingers against Steve’s jaw, took a deep breath. “C’mon, come inside me. Use me. I got all dolled up for you, so come on, soldier, use your pretty little doll.”

Steve moaned, buried his face against Tony’s neck, dragged in a deep breath. “Okay,” he mumbled. “Okay, sweetheart.” He kissed Tony’s neck, then put both hands at his waist, his hips, holding him tight as he pushed him back up, irresistibly, impossibly strong, back onto all fours. “Hold onto the mirror again, beautiful,” he murmured in Tony’s ear, and Tony gasped, shaking at the feeling of Steve’s hard cock shifting inside him, obediently reached out and gripped the sides of the mirror, trying to center himself. Steve laid both big, warm hands on Tony’s hips, gripped him, and then started to fuck him, really fuck him, this time, deep and long, with quick, efficient strokes. It wasn’t rough, but it was deep and thorough, and after just a few, it was all Tony could do to hang on, squeezing his eyes shut again, looking in the mirror too overwhelming as Steve thrust and thrust into him, shuddering sensation lighting up his overworked prostate, Tony swaying slightly, helpless, with each thrust. He was overwhelmed, exhausted, legs trembling, gasping on every thrust in, but he didn’t care, he loved it; this was perfect, Steve taking his pleasure from him, every overwhelming thrust designed for Steve, not Tony, making all of Tony’s overworked nerves fire and jangle all at once.

It didn’t take long at all for Steve to come, but it was hard, furious, overwhelming. He came and came, and Tony could feel it dripping out of him, down his legs, the wet pulse inside of him, and then Steve sagged over him, gasping, with a breathless gasp of, “Tony,” before he squeezed his hips, pressed a kiss between his shoulder blades.

But before Tony could even catch his breath, Steve was already moving, thick hot cock dragging along sensitive inner walls before it pulled out of him. Tony was self-consciously extremely aware of the drip, drip of come out his loosened hole, trickling down his balls, but then Steve’s mouth was there, warm and hot over his thigh, a hot tongue chasing it back up, laving wet over his balls, then dragging over Tony’s sensitive, stinging, open hole. He licked around it, once, twice, then closed his mouth and sucked his own come right out of Tony’s sensitive, loosened hole. Tony gasped, felt himself prickle all over, hot and very, very aware of his softly throbbing insides, the hot tingling ache of his well-used hole as Steve sucked on it, licked into him, gently, assiduously, sucking and licking his own come right out of him. “Steve,” he gasped.

“Shh,” Steve murmured, against the soft, sensitive skin of the curve of Tony’s ass, just above where it met his thigh. “Let me?” He kissed up along it, gently, then went back in for another soft lick, capturing another trickle of come as it leaked out of Tony’s body, down along his balls, chased it back out with his tongue and sucked more out of his hole. “I want to,” he murmured, and Tony felt hot all over, but he nodded, let himself go lax, spread his legs a little more.

“Okay,” he breathed, and let Steve have his way.

It actually felt good, that was the thing, soft and good on his throbbing, used asshole, the softly aching, sensitive inner tissues, Steve’s mouth so soft and gentle as it moved over him, his tongue laving inside him, cleaning him up, leaving him dripping and wet and prickling with soft, wet, needy heat. Tony could see himself in the smudged mirror, now, his own wide eyes behind his mascara and, amazingly, only slightly smudged eyeliner, the slack helpless sag of his open mouth, the deep flush suffusing his face, down his chest, the hot perky peaks of his rouged nipples and tousled hair and disheveled lingerie, the crooked babydoll and soft panties around his thighs and sagging stockings, and his soft cock hanging limp and floppy between his legs, nestling into the panties down his thighs. Tony moaned, because somehow the makeup, the lingerie, combined to make him look even more fucked out and used, and because he could see Steve’s hands flexing at his hips, on his thighs, see Steve behind him in the mirror, head bent earnestly to his task, feel exactly how earnestly, how deeply, Steve’s warm tongue was cleaning him out inside, licking every trace of Steve’s own come out of Tony’s dripping, well-fucked hole.

Eventually, Steve gave a satisfied sound and one last lick to Tony’s damp, saliva-wet hole, rubbing his hands gently over his thighs, up along his hips, and straightened up. His mouth was even puffier, wetter, than it had been before, and Tony swallowed, feeling a twinge of hot, needy, wanton self-consciousness pulling tight in his belly as he watched Steve wipe his mouth, wet and glistening. His face was so spit-slick it really did look like he’d been eating Tony out, like he’d gotten wet for him somehow, and Tony groaned, feeling his gut tighten, his cock throb helplessly, for some reason, at the thought.

Steve tugged gently at Tony’s sagging stockings, pulled them up then let them slip down again, rubbed at Tony’s hips, played with his panties, tugging on them, feeling at them, before he grinned at him in the mirror, sat back a little, and ran his hand over Tony’s side, then the other over the other. “You look so beautiful,” he murmured, and Tony ducked his head down.

“I look fucked-out,” he muttered.

“You look like I’ve had you,” Steve said, “and boy, have I ever had you.” He stroked Tony’s sides, gently, and Tony trembled under him. “Look at you, sweetheart,” Steve murmured. “My little princess, with his loose stockings down around his knees and his garter belt and his skirt pushed up around his waist so I could get at his pretty cock and his panties pulled down to reveal his hole and that pretty cock.” He reached down, stroked Tony’s belly again, rubbed it with one hand. Tony squirmed, feeling hyper-aware of his soft cock between his legs, his exhausted panting, his liquid, tired muscles.

“S’not so pretty,” he said.

“It is, though,” Steve said, and reached down between Tony’s legs, hefted it gently in his hand. “Soft like this, too, sweetheart. It’s one of the prettiest cocks I’ve ever seen, and I love how it looks on you.” He squeezed it, gently, and Tony trembled under him. Steve kissed his shoulder, ran his fingers back, stroked his hole a little, softly, with his fingers. “This is pretty, too,” he murmured, as Tony trembled as the oversensitized skin, the tender muscle, was massaged by the tips of his fingers, “so smooth and soft right now, and it’s easy for me to do,” he crooked his fingers gently inside, pumped them in and out until Tony was gasping, “this,” he said, “so sweet and open. Just for me, huh? You only open up just for me like this, so sweet and open and soft and relaxed.”

Tony nodded, groaning, rubbed one hand over his mouth, smearing his lipstick across the back of it, but God, God, it was true; he’d never opened up like this, let anyone take him like this, as willing, as _eagerly_ , as he let Steve. Steve’s fingers in his wet hole didn’t even hurt, despite their size, so he really must be relaxed. He knew he was flushing, but then Steve just kissed his shoulder again, reached down to stroke his cock gently, fingering idly at the soft head, running his fingers around it. Tony was a lot less sensitive than Steve was, there, being circumcised and well, not the peak of human perfection, but that meant it wasn’t as overwhelmed to be touched just there after he’d come. It hurt, a little, overwhelming, making him shiver with the sensation, but it felt good, too. He sighed, relaxed into Steve’s touches.

“Thank you for this, Tony,” Steve murmured. “You’re so beautiful, and you really look beautiful like this. Even now, look at you. You’re just so, so … so beautiful.” He ran his hand down over Tony’s stomach, pulling Tony back against him, against his chest, between his legs, and Tony sighed, leaned back against him, looking at himself in the mirror. He really did look well-used, all smeared smudged makeup and tousled curls coming down around his face, his soft cock between his legs, his belly heaving, his panties down his thighs, his stockings slipping down, garter belt and lace skirt shoved up around his belly. He reached down, traced his fingers over the stockings, feeling the silky lace against his sensitive skin, rubbed his panties between his fingers, traced his fingers gingerly over his soft cock.

“It was really good, Steve,” he sighed, finally, relaxing against him. “Just, just perfect, honey.”

“It was?” Steve said, and he sounded a little hesitant now. “I was a little afraid I was too much. With the, you know, my mouth on your pretty little hole, and all. I know you don’t—it makes you kind of uncomfortable—” 

“Nah,” was all Tony said, and turned his head, brushed a soft, smearing kiss against the base of Steve’s neck. “It was good. You pushed me just … just enough.”

“Oh, good,” Steve said, breathing out a long sigh of relief, reaching up and brushing tangled curls off Tony’s forehead.

Besides, Tony thought, it had reminded Tony of being with his girlfriends, eating pussy, in a way that had made him squirm, go hot. Like he’d gotten wet for Steve. He would never have thought that would turn him on—hey, his cock didn’t always play ball, so to speak, no awful puns intended, but he _liked_ his cock—but. Well, it had made him feel really good.

He bet if he’d had a vagina he’d have gotten really wet for Steve. He wondered if Steve would have liked that. He bet Steve ate pussy really nice. Even if he didn’t, Tony could have taught him. Tony knew all about it. It’d have been like how Tony had helped Steve learn how to suck better cock, taught him all his tricks. Tony sighed pleasurably, fondled his soft cock a little more, feeling at the sensitivity, letting Steve stroke his stomach, his sides, his thighs, watch him in the mirror. Steve’s gaze kept focusing on his mouth, and Tony smiled, feeling pleased at that. Sexy. Steve had really liked that lipstick, huh?

“Okay,” Steve said after a long time. “Let me clean you up.” He hugged Tony lightly, rubbing his stomach, kissed the top of his head, then helped Tony push himself up to his knees, rubbed a soft circle between his shoulder blades.

“We both need to clean up, I think,” Tony mumbled.

“Yeah,” Steve said, smiling. He reached around, deftly slipped the ribbon loose on the babydoll, opening it up and pulling it back off Tony’s shoulders. Tony brought his arms back to help him, sighing as Steve folded it and laid it on the floor, kissed the back of his neck again. “You really did look so pretty in that,” Steve murmured. “Loves the way it shapes your body, so you look really kind of curvy.”

Tony smiled a little. “Yeah, well,” he said.

“And God, Tony, your nipples,” Steve murmured, reaching up and touching one gently. The touch to the sensitive peak made Tony gasp, squirm under him. Steve rubbed it gently, slowly with his thumb, making pleasure shudder through Tony’s body, and he sighed. “I couldn’t take my eyes off them,” Steve murmured.

Tony smiled a little more. “That was the idea,” he said. He reached up, fingered one of his own nipples idly, sucking in his breath at the dual stimulation. They really did look—pretty striking like this, sexy.

“Well,” Steve said fervently, “it worked.” He smoothed his hands down Tony’s sides, then Tony helped him unfasten the garter belt, leaned back into Steve and let him work his panties down over his stockings, off over his feet. Steve stroked Tony’s cock idly as he worked them down, making Tony shiver in his arms, then lifted his feet gently, pulled them off. He ran his thumb over them, as if appreciating their softness, before setting them aside, then returned to Tony’s legs, rolling down his stockings gently and tugging them carefully off his feet.

“Hey,” Tony observed. “You’re good at that.”

Steve smiled, rubbed his thumb gently over Tony’s foot, up over his ankle. “I did have _some_ practice,” he said.

Tony grinned back at him, feeling it loose and light on his face, soft and wide and easy. “Naughty boy,” he said. “Fooling around while on duty. Weren’t you on those posters with all the condoms? Scandalous.”

“Pretty scandalous,” Steve said cheerfully. “I used one in those days, though. Never wanted to get a gal pregnant.”

“Just not with me, huh?” Tony said, laughing. “You like making a mess of me too much.”

“Hey, Tony, you’re the prettiest dame I’ve ever been with,” Steve said, smiling, rubbing his thumb over Tony’s knee as he leaned in for a kiss. “But if you find yourself in that sort of trouble, you’d better see a specialist.”

Tony found himself laughing helplessly against Steve’s mouth, shaking with it, as he draped his arms around Steve’s shoulders, tried to hang on. “Yeah,” he said, “hell, I’d be running to Hank McCoy pretty quick.”

And then Steve was kissing him, and Tony forgot all about everything else except kissing back. When he pulled away, Tony felt dizzy and soft, breathing heavily, and Steve looked almost as dazed, but he still wiped Tony’s makeup off his face, washed it gently with a wash cloth after, rubbed the rouge off Tony’s nipples in a slow, gently massage that left him gasping, then stroked his hands up into Tony’s hair and rubbed, gently. “You’re a lot more comfortable with this than you were,” he said, smiling, as Tony groaned, let himself lean into Steve’s firm touch.

“Oh,” Tony said. “You mean the,” he gestured at the babydoll, neatly folded beside them.

“Yeah,” Steve said, and smiled.

“I’ve always liked lingerie,” Tony said, but—well, it was true; Steve wasn’t wrong. He wore panties all the time, they made him feel good, but playing it up like this, well, it sometimes made him feel self-conscious, embarrassed. And not in the good, twisting, hot sort of way, necessarily. Sometimes it made him feel—uncertain, strange, a little bit insecure in his masculinity. He’d been a pretty boy. One reason he’d first grown the mustache was to look more, well, manly. _Stark men are made of iron_ , and all that. But he knew Steve didn’t want him to be any different than he was. He just—he just liked seeing Tony, as he was, in soft, pretty things, things that made Tony feel soft, and vulnerable, and maybe a little doll-like, a little beautiful, a little bit a lot of things. He sighed, reached up and curled their fingers together, squeezed. “Thanks for letting me,” he said, looking down at Steve’s hand.

“Hey,” Steve said, firmly, and tilted Tony’s chin up. “Any time,” he said, soft and sincere. “Any time.” 

“Okay,” Tony said, and smiled.

“And I really like the curls,” Steve said, letting one twine gently around his finger, tugging on it.

Tony grinned. “It’s naturally curly, you know,” he said, feeling unduly pleased at that, even though usually his wavy hair annoyed the hell out of him.

“I know,” Steve said, and stroked it gently.

“That feels really good,” Tony told him, and it came out soft, low. He knew he was still floating, stupid with sex and the way Steve had used him so perfectly, so exactly how he’d wanted, by the fact that he’d said it at all, but he couldn’t find it in himself to wish it back. “You have about a million years to stop.”

“Get into bed and I’ll do it as long as you want,” Steve promised, and kissed him again.

And he was as good as his word.


End file.
